


Song For The Damned

by CoffinBeans



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders' Era, Master of Death Harry Potter, Professor Harry Potter, Romance, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Time Travel, Updates Wednesday and Friday, Vampire Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 09:34:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16282109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffinBeans/pseuds/CoffinBeans
Summary: Harry Potter was twenty five when he fell through time, and three years later he still can not say exactly what happened. He’d been in the Department of Mysteries, dropping off a report with his boss, when a purple light exploded out from a closed room. When Harry woke up he was laying in St. Mungos, in 1969.At first he’d done all he could to get back to his own time period, but after six months he’d resigned himself to a new life, which is what led him to this moment. He’s twenty eight years old, with a new identity, sitting in the office of Albus Dumbledore interviewing for the empty defense against the dark arts position.





	1. Chapter One

_People assume that time is an invariable patterned advance. Past to future, cause to effect, everything in a strict progression from point a to point b and so on and so forth until the end of time itself. The truth is much less simple. Time is a thing of chaos and there is no strict order in which it flows. It could be likened to a swirling vortex, everything happening all at once, and never in the same moment. There is no end or beginning to time, it simply is._

_Perhaps this is why time travel is so hard to master. No one can master a thing they don’t understand. Time wasn’t meant to be tampered with. It wasn’t meant to be understood. Sometimes, however, an accident would result in the exact set of circumstances to allow time to be fluid as water, and only then could it moved through easily._

\--

Harry Potter was twenty five when he fell through time, and three years later he still can not say exactly what happened. He’d been in the Department of Mysteries, dropping off a report with his boss, when a purple light exploded out from a closed room. When Harry woke up he was laying in St. Mungos, in 1969.

At first he’d done all he could to get back to his own time period, but after six months he’d resigned himself to a new life, which is what led him to this moment. He’s twenty eight years old, with a new identity, sitting in the office of Albus Dumbledore interviewing for the empty defense against the dark arts position.

“You’ll have to forgive an old man for his forgetfulness, my boy.” Dumbledore says once he walks into the office. “I’ve interview seven other people today. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

Harry stands to shake his hand and doesn’t call the man out on his lie. He knows he is the only person Dumbledore has interviewed aside from a ministry employee, and that was less of an interview, and more of an order to find a defense teacher by the end of the week or the ministry would be providing one. With any luck, Harry will walk out of this room with the job, if for no other reason than that Dumbledore doesn’t like the ministry interfering with his school.

“That’s quite alright, headmaster.” He smiles bright and warm. “My name is James Noire. Jay, if you please.”

Harry wouldn’t be the first to say his name was a good one, far too close to his own, but he’d panicked in the hospital room upon finding out the date and blurted out the first name that came to mind. He’d been stuck with the name for the past three years, so he supposed it was better than Vernon Dudley, or any other name he could have possibly came up with. With the help of several stylists and a couple not-so-legal potions, Harry no longer looks so much like his father or mother, though the similarities are certainly there for those who choose to look close enough. His eyes for one are still just as green as polished malachite, standing out startlingly and vivid, a complimenting contrast to his no longer messy midnight black hair and his olive skin, every bit as stunning as his mother’s own.

“I’ve heard rumors about you, Mister Noire.” Dumbledore starts as he shuffles around his desk, looking for something. “Is it true that you’re a vampire?”

“It is.” He agrees. “I was bitten four years ago.”

He had been bitten shortly before his official auror appointment, only two years before he ended up stuck in the past, by the same vampire he’d met in sixth year. Though the future was much more creature friendly the press had a field day. Harry had almost lost his job, probably would have if he hadn’t been the boy who lived. Suspiciously, only a month after his attack vampires, along with werewolves and several other humanoid creatures, were given better rights. To this day he wonders if that hadn’t been Sanguini’s plan all along.

However, just because he’d been bitten didn’t make him a vampire. Not really.

“And yet your eyes are not black?” It sounds like a statement, and yet Harry knows it’s a question.

“I’ve no clue why my eyes didn’t change,” He lies with a shrug, “but I promise my affliction will make me no danger to the children or staff.”

The man smiles kindly. “I have a werewolf as a student, a quarter-goblin for a professor, and a half-giant as a groundskeeper.” He says. “I am the last person you need to defend your race to.”

Harry smiles as if relived. “That’s a relief. I half-expected to be sent away for my race alone.”

Dumbledore seems to find what he was shuffling about his desk after, for he makes a triumphant little shout, holding a stack of papers up, then gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Please.” He says. “Sit down. Relax.”

Harry does as asked, lowering himself into the soft chair, sitting strait backed but relaxed. “Thank you.” He says.

“Lemon drop?” Dumbledore holds out his bowl.

“No thank you.” Harry waves a hand in dismissal and the bowl of lemon drops is set aside.

Dumbledore hums, reading from the paper in front of him. “It says here you never received any classical training and you took your OWLS and NEWTS at the ministry three years ago at the age of twenty five. That’s quite a bit older than normal for taking such tests. Can you tell me why that is?”

“I was home schooled.” He tells the man. “My parents died when I was fifteen months old in one of Grindelwalds raids, one of his last before your duel and his subsequent defeat. My aunt and uncle raised me, and I studied under tutors for what they could not teach themselves. I took my owls and newts at the proper ages, but they were among the records destroyed in the fiendfire that burned through the records department in December of 1969. I retook my tests the following June as requested of everyone who lost their records in the attack.”

Dumbledore smiles, sympathetic and kind, as if to apologize for his fabricated life. “All O’s and E’s.” He notes. “Immediately after retaking your tests you became a professional dueling instructor.”

“Correct.” Harry nods acquiescently.

“What did you do between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five?” Dumbledore questions.

“Traveled for the most part.” He responds. “I took a break from formal education to get some field experience. I traveled all across Europe for six years, then came back here just shy of my twenty-fifth birthday. I didn’t have any time to really get back to work before my records were destroyed. Having no records makes it hard to get a job, so once I’d taken them I immediately applied for the dueling instructor position for the National Dueling League.”

“It’s a high paying job, and I know that you’re quite famous already.” Dumbledore notes. “Why would you want to leave such a highly rewarding job for one as humble as teaching?”

Harry grins. “I’m not a fan of the fame and politics of the dueling world.” He ducks his head modestly. “I’m looking for a break for a year at the moment, but I’d like to find a permanent job so I can leave the NDL.”

“Are you aware of the curse on our Defense position?” Dumbledore inquires.

Harry nods once more. “Of course.” He says calmly. “If you look at my records you’ll see I’m more than qualified to teach either Potions or History as well. I know not everyone is happy with Binns still being here since his death in 1954, but I also hear Slughorn wishes to retire. I’m hoping to establish myself as a talented enough professor that you’d be willing to offer me a more permanent position at the end of the year. I’ve also been thinking at length about your curse, and I have a theory that if you were to hire two highly qualified teachers willing to switch positions with each other every year, you could bypass your curse all together.”

“That is an odd theory, but I don’t know who would be willing to test it?” the headmaster muses.

“If, at the end of term, you are willing to find a professor skilled in both defense and potions or history, I would be more than willing to risk myself to test my theory by resuming the defense against the dark arts position every other year for as long as Hogwarts will have me.” Harry smiles. “I couldn’t hurt to try, in any case.”

Dumbledore looks at him warmly. “You’re almost too good to be true.”

Harry laughs at that. “Well I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The headmaster stands. “Well, I’ve heard enough.” He says. “You’re hired. You can move in by Monday, and I expect your syllabus by next Friday at latest.”

Harry stands and takes his offered hand. “Thank you so much, headmaster.”

“Seeing as we’ll be working together is insist you call me Albus.” his eyes twinkle behind his glasses.

“Then I insist you call me Jay.” Harry returns with a smile of his own.

“We can discuss you’re proposition regarding the curse in May, I’ll let you know an exact date and time no later than two days prior to our meeting, though with any luck I’ll be able to give you as much as a few weeks notice.” Dumbledore tells him. “But for now, I bid you adieu. Either myself or my headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, will be there to collect you from Hogsmeade in three days at noon. Please try not to be late.”

"I'm never late." Harry promises, then he leaves with a short but warm goodbye, unable to stop his grin.

\--

Three days later the National Dueling League throws a huge farewell party, and Harry packs up the last of his meager belongings and leaves his barracks, hopefully for good. He’s only made a couple friends in his two years with the NDL, and while he’ll be sad to be leaving some, he can’t really say anything about the majority. It’s too political, and it’s hard enough to stay neutral in the war as it is, and that’s without being dragged into political debates nearly every day. Harry has been trying very hard to stay a neutral party, but the more he learns the more he sympathies with Voldemort.

That’s one of the reasons he needs this job. He needs to be reminded why he’s neutral. Not light, not dark. Close proximity to Dumbledore, as well as several others, should be enough to counteract all of the increasingly dark thoughts he’s been having. Enough to keep him from fully aligning himself with Voldemort.

Everything he owns can fit into a single compartment of his trunk, all aside from the three hallow and a few other prized possessions, which he has never taken off his person. He keeps them the same place he’s kept them since he turned nineteen, in a magically enlarged moleskin pouch the size of a matchbox around his neck. Hagrid gave it to him, and it has stayed among his favorite possessions since, one of the few things he’d taken with him on his sudden and unintended blast to the past.

Dumbledore isn’t there at noon to greet him in Hogsmeade Village. Instead, Minerva McGonagal is there, and Harry smiles and waves, not having to fake his enthusiasm. “Hullo!” He greets with a warm smile.

She’s just a stern as he remembers, though far younger. She’s only fourteen years his senior now, he suddenly realizes, and the realization suddenly makes everything so much more real. Her black hair is pulled up into a tight bun, and there are only a few streaks of steel snaking through it.

“I take it you’re James Noire?” She asks, looking him up and down in an assessing way.

Harry wonders what she sees as she scrutinizes him. He’s tall and thin, handsome if the reactions he normally receives are anything to go by, dressed head to toe in black despite the summer heat, an umbrella and shades covering him from the sunshine. Is he nothing more than an odd man to her, or has Dumbledore already let her in on the rumor of his vampirism?

“That’s me.” He agrees. “You can call me Jay if you’d like.”

She smiles. It’s not something he’d have noticed if he’s never met her, a twitch of her lips really, but Harry recognizes the small hint of her approval from his own time. “Come.” She beckons. “I’ll take you to get settled and then you can meet the staff.”

Harry follows the stern looking woman to the castle and the moment he enters he feels like he is returning home. He’s given a room in the north tower, second room to the right in the tallest floor of the tower, directly across and three down from the room they held divination in in his time. The roof is slanted and one wall is curved, giving the room a sort of tear drop shape, and it is sparsely decorated. An empty floor to ceiling bookshelf in polished ebony wood with glass doors, a queen sized bed on a similar wood bed frame, black silk sheets matching the pillowcase, and thick covers in the same shade of black. A desk with a tall cushioned chair, a night table, and a dresser in all the same dark wood.

“You can decorate as you like.” McGonagal says. “The black is standard for teachers, but you can charm it how you like. The wood can change as well, but your options are limited to pine, oak, or mahogany.”

“Ebony is fine.” he dismisses. “I like dark colors.”

“I noticed.” She gestures to his clothes. “The whole vampire aesthetic you have going is very subtle.”

He chuckles. “Well no one ever accused me of being subtle. I’ve been asked once or twice if I was a Gryffindor.”

She laughs. “Well if what I've heard about you is true my house would have been lucky to have you.” Harry grins widely at that.

\--

The last few weeks of summer pass in a furious blur, everyone too busy getting ready for the new school year to even try to be social with each other. July ends without much fanfare, and August begins and ends in much the same fashion. By the time the first of September has come, Harry is itching to see someone other than his fellow staff members, even if they’ll only be children.

In particular though, Harry can not wait to meet his parents. They’ll be starting their second year, and they’ll never think of him beyond their, hopefully cool, teacher; but Harry still longs to see them. They were so young when they died, younger than he is now, and chances are that no matter what he changes they are likely to die on Halloween 1981, just as young as now. He knows getting attached isn’t a good idea, knowing that changing the past could result in a horrible future, but he also knows he can’t survive a life in an unfamiliar time period without at least seeing them once, this one year.

The children are led in by Slughorn in a set of neat lines, all looking a mix of bored and hungry, anxious to get the sorting over with. Harry watches as they fill the tables, his eyes picking out several seventh years and a couple fifth years he knows to be future death eater, some even likely to be currently under Voldemort’s thumb. Severus Snape and his mother are the first of the second years he see.

She’s tiny, round cheeked and talking animatedly, her auburn hair pulled into a pair of braids, her Gryffindor uniform neat and tidy. Snape looks dour beside her, his own Slytherin uniform just as neat, if a little bit worn and ill fitting, his black eyes surveying the room like a particularly ornery hawk. The four marauders come in a couple minutes afterward. His father first, messy hair and rumpled uniform, not even wearing the robe he’s supposed to be over his blazer. He’s wearing his scarf, despite it being a rather warm. To his left is Sirius, just as unkempt, with his uniform only slightly better, missing his tie altogether. Peter comes after them, tucked in on himself awkwardly, looking shy. Harry has to remind himself that he can not hate the boy, for as of yet he’s never done anything wrong. Remus is the last of the group to arrive, the only one wearing his uniform properly. He glances up at the head table in a stiff sort of way, amber eyes instantly reaching Harry, narrowed. He leans in to speak with his friends and Harry focuses his heightened senses to pick up on his words.

“Do you see the guy next to Slughorn?” Remus asks while they walk to their tables.

The other three marauders do a not so subtle look about, staring his way for a moment. “The scary one?” Peter questions, turning his head quickly.

“What about him?” Sirius inquires, staring in his direction as they sit with a casual nonchalance that Harry might have thought of as staring into space were it not for his training and senses.

“He’s a vampire.” Remus states simply.

The other three turn to stare at him incredulously. “Shit, really?” James asks, and his voice is excited. “How do you even know?”

Remus stutters for a moment, clearly forgetting his friends have yet to learn his secret, and he gestures at the head table. “I heard McGonagall mention it to Slughorn when she passed by to get the first years.” he lies. Harry thinks it’s more likely he can smell the blood in his goblet.

“I didn’t hear that.” Sirius says.

“Yeah.” James adds. “Me neither. You sure?”

“Absolutely positive.” the werewolf answers.

“Wicked.” James and Sirius say in unison. Peter mumbles something to low for Harry to hear and the other three laugh. Judging by his face, Harry suspects Peter Pettigrew doesn’t find the prospect of a vampire teacher to be even remotely wicked.

The first years are let in, and Harry stops focusing on the baby marauders, letting his senses settle, the world shifting into the usual background noise. The sorting hat sings it’s song, a bit darker than Harry had been expecting. The first years are sorted, five Hufflepuffs, seven Gryffindors, three Ravenclaws, and five Slytherins

Dumbledore stand for his usual announcements.There is a warning about the forbidden forest and black lake, but also one about the womping willow, which Harry remembers abruptly was only planted the year before for Remus’ benefit.

“Lastly,” Dumbledore finally gets to the end, “I’d like to introduce our new professor for the Defense against the Dark Arts, James Noire.”

Harry stands and gives a flourishing bow, glancing up at the group of students with a grin that flashes his fangs, letting his eyes shift to the fully black voids of vampiric hunger for a brief second. The room fills with an uproar of hushed whispers and wide eyed children. Luckily more of the whispering is excited, only a small portion seeming afraid, most of them coming from the first years. Dumbledore shoots him a look that is so subtlety dirty he doubts anyone aside form him picks it up.

As if the whole scene was planned out, Dumbledore smiles kindly down at the students. “As many of you may have noticed Professor Noire is indeed a vampire, but I can guarantee no harm will come to you from him or any of the other professor.”

With a few last words, the feast begins.


	2. Chapter Two

Their second period on the second of September marks the Gryffindor second years first class with Professor Noire, and also their second class total, which James finds more than hilarious for reasons he can’t quite figure out on his own.

James is anxious to be attending the class with the vampire sharing his first name. It doesn’t matter that they have to take the class with the Slytherins. For once James doesn’t even care. Their teacher is a vampire, and nothing could be cooler than that.

When they get in James finds himself staring in the direction of the teacher. He’s never thought of himself as queer, not in anyway, but that said he finds the vampiric professor to be extremely attractive in an otherworldly, yet vaguely terrifying way. Perhaps it is because he shares eyes with Lily Evans, his crush since he first laid eyes on the red haired girl. Their eyes are eerily similar, both dark but bright, a vivid green standing out against their skin, his olive complexion darker than her pale ivory skin, like particularly precious gemstones. James thinks he may have a thing now, a type consisting solely of people with entrancingly and intensely green eyes.

Professor Noire has hair black as his own, so dark the light doesn’t seem to reflect off it, though his is not quite as messy or curled as James’ own hair is. It’s styled in an undercut, long at the top, and short on the sides and bottom, drawn back into a very attractively refined hairstyle that somehow still manages to look rebellious. Their hair color isn’t the only similarity they seem to share, but then the Noire’s are a branch of the Black family, and James has always looked more like his mother Euphemia Black than he does his father. He could be Sirius’s twin with a little tweaking, and Noire has features that scream of aristocracy, perfectly suited for a Black. His cheekbones are high in his angular face, something James envies of him and Lily herself, for his own are soft and not nearly as picturesque. His mouth is a lot like Lily’s as well, full and rose petal red.

“Are vampires normally attractive enough to make someone think gay thoughts?” James asks Sirius, and the boy snorts.

“I dunno man.” He speaks softly back to him. “I’m the wrong guy to ask. I’ve always been bi, so I can’t tell you. Maybe you’re really bi and puberty is hitting you really hard right now.” Then he chuckles. “Or maybe you think he’s hot ‘cause he’s got eyes like Evans.”

“Shit man,” James laughs, “I ain’t gonna deny it. Green eyes are groovy.”

Remus doesn’t look up from his book, flipping the page as he says, “You know vampires have sharpened senses so he’s likely heard everything you two just said.”

James chokes on his own saliva and Sirius thumps his back as Peter finally shows up, nearly five minutes late, with some snacks in his arms and his pants on backwards. He slides in next to them with an apologetic glance.

“Have a nice wank?” Sirius teases, and the boy turns bright red, trying miserably to lie about his whereabouts.

“Please, Petey.” James chides. “At this point the whole second year knows you go for a wank after we have Transfiguration. We all know you’ve got a thing for elder skirts, but do you gotta rub it in Sirius’s face like that? He loves McGonagall.”

Peter flushes and squints his eyes angrily. “I ain’t got a thing for her.” He stubbornly insists as Sirius mocking fake cries. “I just like her breasts is all. They’re huge.”

James and Sirius laugh as Remus gives the pudgy boy a stern look. “Petey you pervert.” They crow. “You aren’t supposed to objectify ladies like that.”

“Yeah, whatever you sluts.” He mumbles, but before they can say anything in retaliation the professor clears his throat and the class hushes instantly. The two marauders give him a look as if to tell him he’ll be paying for his comment later, and they turn to look at their professor.

He sits down upon his own desk, legs crossed at the knees, leaned back casually. “Hello, hello hello. My name is Professor Noire, and welcome to Magical Defense.” His voice is deep and velvety as he to speaks. “I suppose we may as well get the inane questions and introductions over with before we move onto actual learning. Shall we?”

\--

Harry grins at his students as they all stare at him. Several of them, mostly ladies with a few blokes, stare at him in open appreciation, which is a bit uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as his own father finding him attractive. It’s prepubescent teen hormones, he knows, but that said he still doesn’t exactly appreciate being objectified by someone related to him. He wonders if this is how most people feel when they found out their cousin had a minor crush on the; mostly weirded out with a hint of repulsion and a dash of low-key flattered.

Most of the students have their hands raises, with the exception of one or two, including Severus Snape. He points to his mother. “Yes, Miss Evans?”

“How old are you?” she asks.

“I turned twenty-eight at the end of last July.” He answers, then he gestures to a Slytherin boy. “Mr. Davies?”

“Are you really a vampire?” He questions.

Harry smiles. “Yes.” He says simply. “Mr. Moraeu?”

“What was your house?” is asked by Sirius.

“Looks like these are all going to be personal questions.” He laughs. “I didn’t go to Hogwarts, but I’ve been told I would have fit in well as a Slytherin or a Gryffindor, and I’m not just saying that because that’s what this class consists off.”

The questions continue in a similar strain, everything from his birthday (July 31, 1944), to how he became a vampire (bitten on his way home from work one new moon), where he was born (Godric’s Hollow), his stance on the war (neutral), and even his favorite color (Purple). Ten minutes later he’s answered all but one last girls question.

“Miss McKinnon.” He calls. “Apologies for you being last.”

“That’s okay.” She smiles, batting her eyes. “I’d like to know, are you single Professor?”

Harry can’t help the laugh that escapes at that. He debates his options for a second, then decides a lie is best, a gentle but firm and final shut down on every student who may want to ask for his. “No.” He answers. “I have a fiance.”

A couple of the girls squeal excitedly. “Tell us about her.” McKinnon smiles, wide and eager.

Harry sighs. His seventh years Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws hadn’t wanted this much information on him, more interested in questioning him on his plans for the syllabus and course load.

“ _Him_ , actually.” He stresses the word.

There’s a buzz of whispering and a few girlish squeals of excitement at that, and in his mind he can see them asking questions about his alleged fiance after, truth based lies piling up like jenga, making Harry regret his original lie and think he should have just let the vultures know he was single, but it’s too late to back out now.

Before they can actually ask him any questions, however, he claps his hands together firmly. The second years jump.

“But, that’s enough about me.” He says. “I’d rather not sit here all day gossiping about my love life with a bunch of preteens, no offence.”

There are some discontent grumbles, but his students settle down, and Harry inwardly thanks his lucky stars for saving him from having to describe his imaginary fiance. Harry feels he’d have accidentally described his first crush, which was on young Voldemort of all people, and he suspects it would have somehow found it’s way back to the man. Fate had a way of fucking with him like that.

McKinnon raises her hand, and he inwardly sighs. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to ask one more question.” She requests.

Harry smiles, “If it is a personal question the answer is no.”

“It’s not.” She promises. He waves at her to continue. “Why did you call this class Magical Defense?” She asks.

“Because Defense Against the Dark Arts suggests that the only thing you have to defend yourself from is dark magic, which is not only biased, but also sorely incorrect.” He answers.

“Do you sympathize with the dark side?” Peter Pettigrew asks. “Have you used dark magic?”

“What is dark magic?” He questions back, and while he gets a bunch of half stuttered answers, some largely light oriented, and some very death eater friendly, but in the end no one can really answer. He waits for them to finish their debates. “You’ll notice not one of you can answer the question. You can postulate, and you can spout your own thoughts, or the thought you’ve been given by those who have taught you, but not one of you has an exact and strict answer everyone shares. Do you know why that is?”

No one speaks. No one raises a hand. In the silence you could hear a pin drop.

“There is no such thing as dark magic.” He states.

The room dissolves into an uproar. He’s not surprised. His views are not popular, not light and normal, nor dark and traditional.

“Quiet!” His voice is only barely raised, but everyone immediately hushes. “There is no such thing as light or dark magic. All magic is magic,nothing more, because all magic is neutral. Though some branches of magic are certainly scary and horrible, there is no actual criterion for what is labeled as dark or light. There is simply what is feared and labeled dark, and what is considered safe and light.”

He waits a moment, watching as they seem to find at least some understanding of his words, before he speaks again.

“I myself am considered a dark creature.” Harry says. “Any magic I do could be considered dark. But is it? No. Likewise, if I heal someone it is a light spell, unless I bring them from death or the edge of death, then it is dark. If I unlock a door it’s light, unless it is a door to another realm, then it is dark. The ministry decides what is considered dark. The ministry decides what is considered light. The ministry which is filled with people.”

“People, who are fundamentally scared of what they don’t understand.” he continues. “People who are driven by fear more than any other emotion. People who are flawed, because their is no such thing as perfection. Their words and views are left to shape our society, but we would be nothing more than blind sheep if we were not to question everything on every fundamental level. I could say the sky is purple, and I could believe it more than anything else, but that doesn’t make the sky any less blue. Faced with this truth, the only thing left is cold hard facts. And the facts all say there is no difference in light or dark magic. The facts say dark and light magic don’t exist.”

He breathes out, staring out into the sea of faces. “I don’t mean to make anyone uncomfortable, but the truth is dark and light are a childish concept of magic, and it has no place in a school. That is why I teach Magical Defense, not Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He says, then he brings them back to the task at hand with an instruction. “Now, enough about my views on magic. This is a school and we need to be actually learning. I want you all to take out a piece of paper, not a large piece, feel free to rip a piece of paper up if you have to.”

The room fills with a flurry of tearing paper and shuffling, and Harry waits for it to settle again before he speaks. “On it I’d like you to write out the most wild, interesting, and outlandish scenario you can think of. When the ink is dry, fold your paper in half and I will collect them. Over the next couple months until we have no more, we are going to take a scenario out every class and figure out how we can use magic to solve it. Take your time and feel free to work in groups, but I expect one scenario per student when I come to collect. You have half an hour. Begin.”

The class fills with excited murmuring and chatter, students shuffling. Lily finds her way to Snape, and the two sit in a corner talking in hushed whispers. The marauders practically leap over tables after James Potter as he somehow manages to gazelle leap his way to Lily so he can flirt at her. The girl in question rolls her eyes as his flirting and calls him a toad, then goes back to studiously ignoring him.

Harry has to fight down a laugh.

\--

_Dad,_

_I know you wanted me to write if anything interesting happened, but I doubt you were expecting anything so soon. While I have no news for you, I have something I think HE will be pleased to know. Intrigued even._

_Our new Professor for the Defence Against the Dark Arts is… Unorthodox to say the least._

_For one thing he isn’t even strictly human. Dumbledore, in some fit of senility, has elected to hire a Vampire. Yet, I am not writing to you so that you can use your position on the School Board to fire him, I’m actually hoping you’ll let him stay despite his creature status._

_I suspect he is more sympathetic to the cause than one of Dumbledore’s usual picks. Upon our first lesson he referred to the class as Magical Defense. When questioned as to why, he caused quite a stir by claiming dark and light magic don’t exist. To ask him, it seems his belief is that there is only magic, not light or dark, only power. His views are neutral, at least, but highly in tune with HIS own words on how there is only power and those who seek it._

_To say Dumbledore was not pleased would be a gross understatement. I’ve never seen the man so upset. Professor Noire didn’t seem phased by it at all. I suspect he doesn’t have quite as much trust from the old man anymore, but he doesn’t seem to be in danger of being fired._

_In any case, I leave it to you to decide if you should let HIM know. His name is James Noire, though the other professors call him Jay, and I’ve heard some of the teachers say he was part of the National Dueling League._

_Patiently awaiting a response._

_Your loving son,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

\--

Abraxas Malfoy waits as the others disband and the dark lord slumps back in his chair, removing his glamour with a few hissed words. Abraxas, like Orion and a few others, has always know the dark lord’s identity, but even he rarely gets to see his old friend without his glamours. He’s a stunning man, even Abraxas, happily married and uninterested in sex beyond what it took to make himself an heir, can admit his lord is a handsome man.

The words tall dark and handsome were made for his friend. With his sharp facial structure, dark hair, and stunning, though terrifying, eyes, the dark lord cuts an impressive and alluring figure. He’d easily gain followers as this, but the snake like visage he normally wears instills fear and inspires loyalty in it’s own way. A man is hard to follow, prone to mistakes, but a monster… well no one would question a monster.

“Why do you linger, my friend?” he finally asks.

“My son seems to think you’d be interested in his defense against the dark arts professor, and an ally, not a threat.” he responds.

“Why?” he asks, calm as can be.

“For one, he calls the position Magical Defense.” That gets and intrigued look. “For another, he is a highly skilled dueler, a prodigy some say. Lucius believes he would be amiable to the cause because he openly supports and believes some of our core beliefs.”

The dark lord hums in interest. “I shall seek out this professor.” He says. “What is his name?”

“James.” Abraxas replies. “His name is James Noire.”

In the darkness of the manor ballroom, the dark throne glints. It is made for his lord. It is a though ever more present in Abraxas Malfoy’s mind as his lord chuckles. “Bring me this, James Noire.” He commands.

Abraxas never could deny Tom Marvolo Riddle, and it stands even more true now that he’s a powerful dark lord.

“Yes.” He bows. “Yes, my lord.”


	3. Chapter Three

When September passes, and half of October, by without a single foreshadowing event, Harry thinks maybe his paranoia is getting a little out of hand. Nothing had happened on Halloween since the day he arrived in the past. There had not been one traumatic event to mark the last of October for three years. He does not let his guard down.

On the twenty-first of October, Harry grins at his second years as he pulls Remus Lupin’s scenario from the jar on his desk.

“The Earth has been poisoned and is no longer livable.” He reads out loud. “We have exactly three months before all life on earth dies. All of magical kind, creatures and non-creatures, look to the moon for a new home.”

“Hey,” Sirius jumps in without a beat, “What even happens if we put a werewolf on the moon?”

There’s a flicker of panic across Remus’s face, and it causes him no small amount of amusement. “He’ll explode and die because there is no oxygen in space.” James answers, not even sitting up, head pillowed on his arms sleepily.

“I never said we’d send him up without a suit, you absolute monster!” Sirius gasps.

Harry laughs, which makes everyone look at him. “It’s an interesting question.” He says.

“What happens if we send a vampire to the moon?” Sirius asks.

He grins. “You know, I’m not sure, but if I ever go to the moon you’ll be the first to know. I’m curious as to your thoughts on the matter, but that can be discussed after we solve the scenario.” He says. “Now, as Mr. Potter pointed out, there is no oxygen on the moon. What spell could be used to solve that issue?”

His students dissolve into fairly heated discussions, and Harry notes that Remus looks uncomfortable. “Mr. Lupin, may I talk to you outside for a moment?” He looks apprehensive, but gets up. “Everyone continue discussing, we will be right back.”

Outside the clamor of his room, Harry turn to face the werewolf. “Are you feeling alright?” He asks, and he looks shocked. Harry wonders if he thought he was in trouble.

“Umm yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He asks.

“The moon is full tomorrow.” He sucks in a startled and scared breath. “Relax Mr. Lupin, I only know because of my senses.” He doesn’t mention Dumbledore telling him of a werewolf student, since he is the only one aside from the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey to be aware to his condition. “Your secret if safe with me.”

Remus sighs. “I can’t keep anything down.” he huffs. “Everything I’ve eaten has come right back up. I’m worried about the transformation, because it is so painful. Everything is overwhelming, and it only gets worse the closer we get to the full moon.”

Harry nods understandingly, then brings his flask from his robes. “Try this.” The werewolf looks at him in apprehension, do doubt able to smell the blood inside.

“Why?” He asks.

“Blood will settle the wolf enough to let you eat.” He says. “I had a werewolf godson.”

“Had?” Harry sometimes forgets how insightful the boy can be.

“He’s dead.” Harry says bluntly, though he isn’t truly sure if Teddy is dead or if he no longer exists or if he’s even been affected by Harry’s trip to the past, nearly wincing along with the young werewolf. “Anyways, I made that for you because I was pretty sure I already knew your problem. My godson had the same issue. It’s pigs blood, not human, with a little aconite. It would be a poison in a large dose, but in this amount it should calm your nerves and make the transformation a little less painful. I wouldn’t recommend it every day, it can get pretty addictive, and it is a poison which means long term daily use will kill you, but it will help for the three days where the moon is full.”

Remus surprises him by giving him a hug. “Thank you so much.” He says, muffled by his robes. When he pulls back he looks a bit apologetic. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Harry smiles. “One last thing.”

Remus looks curiously up at him, taking a sip of the blood and aconite. The pallor of his skin seems to instantly brighten, and the tense line of his shoulders relaxes. “Whoa.”

“You should think about telling them.” He doesn’t specify, he doesn’t have to. “It’s not an order, but I don’t think they’ll hate you. I think they’d be rather open to it. Just a thought, eh?”

“I’ll think about it.” Remus says, but his heart skips as if he’s lying.

Harry drops it, he didn’t expect the boy to agree anyways, and they go back in. Harry takes his spot at the front of the room and Remus sits back with his friends, who immediately start questioning. “Are you in trouble Remmy?” Sirius asks.

“No.” He smiles. “He wanted to discuss my last homework assignment. I did really good.”

“What’s with the flask?” James inquires.

“It’s mine.” He lies. “I left it last class. It’s got my medicine.”

“Medicine?” Peter questions.

“I got the damned flu again.” Remus sighs.

“Of course you did.” James says. “It’s just pure coincidence it’s on the full moon. Again.”

Remus looks minorly panicked before he schools his expression. “I can’t control the sky or my immune system James.” He defends. Harry fights back a snort.

“You know,” Sirius grins. “We don’t care if you’re secretly a were creature, or a vampire, or something. Not even if it’s something hella embarrassing.

“Like a slug.” James adds in, yawning loudly.

Remus rolls his eyes, even as his heart stutters sadly. “No.” he says. “That’s Sirius. Only you’re clearly a peacock, because only a peacock would preen so much.”

They all laugh. Harry’s heart aches for him, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before his secret is out to them. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, one at a time starting with Miss Black, and ending with Mr Davies. How do you solve the oxygen problem?”

\--

Halloween comes far too fast, but Harry doesn’t stop expecting something to happen, and this is why, when at nearly half past nine on Halloween night, he does not end up knocked unconscious immediately after leaving the potion supply shop in Hogsmeade.

He blocks the stunner with a wandless silent shield, spinning around on his heels to face his attacker and shooting off another spell with a movement of his hands. His bags hit the cobblestones and Harry has only one moment to appreciate the ingenious of cushioning spells, before he is attacked and the duel begins. His opponent is dressed in all black and his mask is the familiar mask of a death eater. He’s equally skilled, dueling just as silent without the use of his wand. They circle each other, shooting off spells at each other, not all legal or light oriented.

“You will come with me, James Noire.” The death eater commands. “My lord requests an audience. He will not take no for an answer.”

Harry dodges a cutting spell, and shoots it back at the man, catching his arm barely. “Is their any option to come consciously?”

That seems to startle the death eater, and it is all the opening he needs. He shoots a freezing curse at the man, and as the light blue light surrounds him he freezes as if suddenly an ice sculpture. Harry walks up to him and removes his mask, noting how he looks like a Malfoy, grey eyes darting in vicious defiance. Harry smiles, teeth bared, glinting in the moon light.

“Well, well, well. Abraxas Malfoy.” He looks extremely shocked to be recognized. “Listen, and listen well. I will not repeat myself. Blink three times, slowly, if you understand.” He does. “You tell the dark lord I am willing to talk, but that if he tries to kidnap or kill me again I will destroy all of his little trinkets, starting with the ring.”

Abraxas Malfoy must know of the horcruxes, because the fear in his eyes is palpable. It only grows when Harry reaches into his pouch and removes the ring from within. He lets him get a nice long look at the horcrux, then he puts it back in his pouch.

“Now that you know my words are truth, you tell him to come to the Hogshead, unaccompanied, at five pm on November 4th. I’ll be at the table in the back left corner, farthest from the door.” He instructs.“I will meet him, but it will be on my terms. I have a letter that will be sent to Dumbledore if I don’t contact someone every morning, and it details the hiding spots of every one of his horcruxes, what they are, and how to destroy them. Do not test me.”

He releases the spell and turns on his heel, gathering his objects and leaving. Malfoy does not follow. He does not attack. He simply apparates away with a quiet pop. Harry turns back to the spot they’d just been with an annoyed glance.

 _“Guess this is happening sooner than I expected.”_ he thinks, then he continues on his way back to Hogwarts with Slughorn’s potion supplies.


	4. Chapter 04

The fourth of November comes swiftly after.

Harry busies himself with class until then. His seventh year students have already moved out of their scenarios into theory and practice, and his other classes are not so far behind. Pretty soon they’ll all be learning how to apply the solutions to their scenarios to every day magical use, and in every day magical dueling. Harry honestly can not wait.

At four the professor makes his way down to Hogsmeade to join a group of sixth and seventh years. Though the third, forth, fifth, and several sixth and seventh year students have already been sent home from this weekends Hogsmeade trip, the small group of sixth and seventh years accompanying him are those who were allowed to stay, or in some cases come back, from three to seven only, provided they’d been on their best behavior. Harry knows his father and Sirius are responsible for this rule being changed in the future, but even he can doesn’t know the story.

Shortly before five he excuses himself, letting Vesper know it’s her shift to watch the kids again, and he heads to take his seat in the Hogshead. He sits, taking out his papers to grade while he has nothing else to do. Ten minutes pass rather quickly, and Harry is pleased when someone comes to stand in front of him at exactly five.

Voldemort looks exactly like he had in the diary and the memories, though certainly older. As Harry stands now, the man is eighteen years his senior, but he hardly looks any older than Harry, who only looks around twenty himself, though he’d stopped aging long before he’d been turned. His hair is neatly combed, longer than expected, and just as black as his own. Just as handsome as Harry remembers, really, dressed in a tailored suit and robes in black. His eyes are deep burgundy, so dark they could be mistaken for black in this light, but Harry’s enhanced eyes pick out their color even in the dim room.

“As much as I appreciate you not showing up looking like a serpentine horror,” Harry greets, “there are far too many people around who would recognize you right now.”

The dark lord snarls, but he hisses a parseltongue glamour spell, similar to the one he uses to look like himself as Voldemort. His sharp aristocratic features soften, his hair turns wavy and coppery dark brown, and his skin takes on a slightly warmer tone. Otherwise he doesn’t change anything. Nothing from the style of his hair to the color of his dark red eyes. Harry nods in approval, taking what he can get and not forcing the man to change his eyes.

“How do you know of my horcruxes?” Voldemort ask, angry and menacing.

“Sit.” Harry feels a swell of vindictive triumph as the dark lord follows his order without much more than a deadly glare.

“I demand an answers.” He says a few seconds later, when Harry doesn’t look up from his papers.

“And I demand patience while I finish grading these last two assignments, so you can wait.” He tells the man. There is a growl over his head, but the dark lord sits back in his chair with crossed arms. He insults Harry in parseltongue, and Harry glances up with a glare of his own, and responds in kind. _“I would be a little politer if I were you. I hold your very life in my hands_.”

He rears back dramatically, eerily like a snake about to strike. “You speak.”

“I do.” Harry marks off the last mistake, and then he packs up the school assignments neatly. “You should order something. We’re going to be here a while.”

Voldemort doesn’t cease his glaring until the server girl comes. He order a glass of red wine when the server comes. “I wouldn’t trust the food here even if my life depended on it.” He states when asked if he wants anything to eat, then he turns to Harry. “How about you, James?” he questions, voice genial, as if they were here as friends and nothing more.

“Sangivore.” He shrugs, flashing his fangs. “Haven’t been able to keep down a bite of food for seven years. There are some potions I can use to make it taste like food, but they’re barely worth it. I’ll stick with what I can actually partake in, thank you very much.”

He turns to the girl. “Bring us the bottle for him, a bottle of blood for me, and two glasses. Then leave us.” He commands. “We would like privacy. I’ll wave you over when we need the check. There will be a large tip for you if you do as I ask.”

The girl scurries off. Harry waits for her to come back with the two bottles and the glasses, then he pours the dark lord a glass of wine, and himself a glass of blood as she scampers off. He drains the glass in a few large gulps, the warm metallic liquid pouring down his throat smoothly. He’s hungrier than he’d realized, and he refills the empty glass, sorely tempted to just guzzle down the bottle in a manor similar to a desperate alcoholic. Voldemort is only half through his first glass of wine, tapping his fingers, long slender and sharp nailed, on the table impatiently.

Seeing that he is no longer doing anything, Voldemort starts before harry can find another thing to use as an excuse to push the upcoming conversation back just a little longer. “So, James...”

“Jay.” Harry interrupts him. “James was my father.”

“Jay.” Voldemort says, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “How did you learn of my…” He pauses for a moment, “Objects?”

“It’s a long story.” He warns. “You sure you wish to hear it.” The dark lord nods. “I’m going to tell you the truth, because I actually trust you.” He says, not even remotely untruthful. “But when I am done I need you to give me an oath that you will not repeat it to anyone. You will not discuss it with anyone.”

The dark lord looks contemplative, licking his lips. “If what you tell me is worth such an oath.” He concedes, and it is as good as Harry will get, so he takes it.

“My story begins in December of 1979…” He begins, enjoying the way his eyes widen, and he tells Voldemort about the prophecy.

“Wait.” Voldemort says when he’s done. “You’re telling me I legitimately believe in this prophecy?”

“Yes.” Harry nods, patient. He’s well aware of how Voldemort views prophecies in this time period.

“I believe it?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes, you do.” Harry agrees.

“Why?” He questions.

“Your mental facilities are going to start rapidly deteriorating within the year.” Harry reveals. “It’s part of why I need to tell you the truth. You’ve made too many horcruxes, and pretty soon you’ll start to notice the effect. Your temper will shorten, your attention will become erratic. By 1975 you’re completely insane, but those who are loyal to you now stay with you regardless, hoping the whole time for you to find your way back.”

He lets the dark lord digest that information, and then he continues. “In my life, your belief in the prophecy is so strong you actually fear for your continued existence. So much so, there would come a day when you decide to reveal your horcruxes to someone important, because you need the help of his house elf.” He reveals. “Your cruelty to the only one who had ever shown him kindness aside from his brother breaks this followers loyalty. In a single event you show your madness and he knows that he has no choice but to destroy you. His endeavour to destroy the locket ends in his death, but the house elf takes over. He can not destroy the locket, but the house elf does damage it unknowingly, and in doing so what little sanity you still have is crushed.”

He shivers. “So, when a follower comes to me with a half finished prophecy I believe it.” There is no question in his tone. It’s a revelation. A realization.

“Yes.” He says. “There are only two who match the prophecy. Neville Longbottom, and me.”

That gets him a look of such shock he has to fight not to laugh. “You?” he asks, and then suddenly his face takes on an expression that only Harry can really recognize as frightened. “That’s how you know about my horcruxes. You defeat me.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t see any point in denial. Either the dark lord will change the time line, or he won’t. Harry already resigned himself to that possibility the day he decided to apply for the defense position.

Harry takes the ring out of his pouch and slides it across the table, and the dark lord snatches it up as if he were gollum from the lord of the rings and the ring was the one ring. In a way it is, for it is a ring with a soul in it, even if only a part of one.

“Why are you giving this back to me?” he asks, tucking it away.

“It’s not mine.” He says, then he amends. “Well, in a way it is. I own the deathly hallows. Yours merged with mine when I came into possession of it, but in the end no one can ever master the hallows after me. To you, and anyone else, that ring is nothing more than a ring. To me, it is one of three items that makes me the master of death.”

Voldemort stares at him, then asks, “Master of death?”

Harry chuckles. “It is a title.” He says. “A title that comes with great and terrible power.”

“What kind of power?” he whispers.

“Endless.” Harry states, simply. “In in exchange for the gifts I am cursed.”

“How are you cursed?” Voldemort asks.

“In a way, being the master of death is like having horcruxes.” He answers carefully. “I am granted immortality, power, and so much more. I am the one who will decide when I die. In exchange for this, when I die my soul will be trapped in the way station, like anyone else who creates a tether to immortal life. Neither you or I will ever age, but when we die our souls can never be reborn.”

“I know I’m seen as some prodigy dueler, it’s why you sent Abraxas, but I always hold myself back.” He continues. “Even if it means losing I still hold myself back to only a quarter of my true power. I’m not likely to ever find a match. I’m less of a vampire than they know. I use it as a shield, more than anything.”

“So, can you actually eat regular food?” Is the next question, and Harry laughs at how random it is.

“No.” He sighs. “The bite ruined my ability to eat human food. In that way I am perfectly vampiric until the day I die. Or until I can cure the bite.”

Voldemort nods thoughtfully. “So, I came for you?” He asks, bringing the conversation back on track.

“Yes.” Harry nods in return. “On October 31st, 1981 you kill James and Lily Potter. You had set up the horcrux ritual beforehand so you could use my death as a catalyst for another horcrux, and their deaths filled that piece of the ritual. You’d also made an unintended unbreakable vow with a follower to spare my mother, but in agreeing to take her and spare me you let that transfer. So, when you turned your wand on me and cast the killing curse you broke that vow. Your curse was shot back at you, killing you, and your soul left your body. It split because of the horcrux ritual, one half thrown into the ether and one finding itself a home in the only living thing near you.” He pauses to make sure he has the dark lord’s attention.

“The only living thing in the room,” He smiles, “Was me.”


	5. Chapter five

When Harry has finished with his whole story; everything from his life with the Dursleys, to his life at Hogwarts, their duels, the horcrux hunt, to how he defeated Voldemort; Voldemort leans back with an amazed look. Harry waits for him to process everything, finishing the last of his blood. Voldemort had already finished his wine long ago, around the time he’d reached the horcrux hunt, and Harry feels bad because the man looks like he wants to crawl into the now empty bottle.

Harry opens his mouth, ready to continue his story; ready to tell him all about the deathly hallows, about his death, about waking up as the master of death, about the bite, and everything that led to them sitting in this dingy pub at this moment; when he hears his name being called.

“Professor Noire!” Harry looks up as a trio of his sixth years come in.

They can’t see them, not with the web of spells he’s cast around them, so Harry smiles apologetically at the dark lord and starts undoing his spell work. He waves their server over after he drops the eavesdropping shield, making them visible, and waits for the girls to see him as he pays for their drinks. One girl catches sight of him and points and they come walking over with cheerful waves.

“It’s time to g-Oh!” The leader of the group, a blonde girl with eyes as blue as his are green, stops when she sees Voldemort, unable to recognize him in disguise. “Hello!” she greets, blushing.

Harry doesn’t particularly blame her. His glamour is indeed quite attractive. Though Tom Riddle was handsome as well, handsomer even, and that still holds true now, even if he prefers to look like a terrifying snake-like monster most of the time. Still, he’s grateful the man is in disguise. He wouldn’t know what he’d have done if Dumbledore discovered he’d been talking with a man suspiciously similar to Tom Riddle.

“Hi!” the only hufflepuff girl smiles, rubbing her hands together, bushy brown hair painfully similar to Hermione’s chopped in a short bob that stands out around her head like cotton candy.

“Evening.” says the last one, ravenclaw like her other companion. She looks like Cho Chang, Harry notes. She’s likely her mother.

Voldemort is all charm. “Good evening.” he greets, warm and friendly. It would seem to them as if he were just a polite and kind stranger, and not a vicious and terrible dark lord.

“Sorry Professor. I didn’t realize we were interrupting your date.” Says the first of the girls, waggling her eyebrows.

Harry’s face takes on an incarnadine hue, but before he can tell them it’s not a date, Voldemort speaks. “Don’t worry girls, you’ll have him back to you in a moment. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of your teacher for too long.” he winks, setting off a flurry of giggles.

“Take your time, Mr. Professor Noire’s fiance.” the third girl laughs.

“Marius is just fine girls.” the dark lord introduces. “My name is Marius Ceasario.”

Once more Harry is grateful the man is good under pressure, because if he’d been asked he may have blown the whole thing by referring to him as Thomas. The girls introduce themselves as Abbie Hobbs,Lin David, and Seirra Selwyn, and Voldemort responds that he’s charmed, which sets off more giggles. They excuse themselves and mouth at him how hot the dark lord is, pointing in a way that lacks any subtlety, as they run off to join the other girls. Judging by the high squeals Harry suspects they are gossiping about his supposed fiance.

He lets his head thunk on the table. “You didn’t have to let them think you’re my fiance.” He mutters. “They only think I have one because I lied to them because I kept getting flirted at for the first two weeks of teaching. They only stopped when one of the girls asked what my weekend plans were and I told her I was going to my fiance’s house.”

Voldemort laughs. “No, I didn’t have to,” He says, amused, “but, it gives me the perfect cover to talk to you. I need time to process all you’ve told me, and I still wish to hear the rest of your story. We have much to talk about, but I’m not certain how to clear your schedule. This gives me an excuse to talk to you, though I am a bit busy right now, so when is your next Hogsmeade weekend?”

“The 18th.” Harry sighs, sitting up. “You’re right, it is the perfect cover, but I swear the universe hates me.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” the dark lord rolls his eyes. “I’ll owl you a time, and I will see you then, fiance.”

He walks Harry out, making sure to hold his hand as they do for show, setting off a round of giggles. Harry tries not to let out a long suffering sigh as his fiance starts to walk away, making sure to make it looks as if he’s reluctant to release his hand. In a way he is. Voldemort’s hands are very warm, and Harry’s are already becoming cold in the chilly autumn air.

“Oh, one last thing!”His hand is suddenly grabbed, and Voldemort pulls him in close. “When it’s just us,” he whispers, lips against his cheek as if kissing him goodbye, “you can call me Marvolo.”

He apparates away with a wave amid the giggling, leaving Harry standing stunned and touching his face like an idiot, or a love struck fool, in the street. Vesper walks up to him.

“Nice catch, Jay.” She says, fanning herself. “I need to get me one of those.”

“Sadly there’s only one, and I called dibs.” Harry shrugs, unapologetic, and he leads the children back to Hogwarts, Vesper taking the back of the group.

 _“How is this even my life?”_ Harry wonders, not for the first time since he’d been thrown back in time.

\--

Sirius Black is beyond excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Magical Defense, he means, but some habits are hard to break. Sure, Noire’s a bit nonconformist, but all of his lessons have been Sirius’ favorites. It is a little disappointing that today’s lesson is their last scenario, but he knows it is bound to be a good one. As Remus, James, and Peter catch up, Sirius finds them a table near the front. Not front row, because it’s for teacher pets, but third row is good. Not quite middle, but the perfect place to have a good view of the class.

“Hey Siri.” He looks up at James. “Your teacher boner is showing.”

He shoves his friends over fondly. “I don’t have a teacher boner Jamie.” He says. “That’s Pete.”

Of course that sets off a round of laughter as Peter shouts that he does not.

Professor Noire comes in late, which in itself isn’t an oddity. The man can be a bit dramatic, and sometimes he shows up late for no other reason than he can, and because Dumbledore always gets that oddly sour look when Noire does anything he doesn’t like. It is unusual however, for him to flop down at his desk like a boneless lump, and groan as if the world is ending.

“Something wrong professor?” Lily Evans, James’ crush for probably forever, asks.

“Just the headmaster being a meddling incompetent shit.” He says viciously, head still on his desk under his arms, and Sirius knows he wasn’t supposed to understand it, because it was said in French, but he can’t help his laugh anyways. The Professor lifts his head with a long suffering look. “Of course someone understood that. The universe hates me.”

“Wait,” James turns to Sirius with eager eyes, “What did he say?”

Sirius opens his mouth to say he’ll tell him later, but the Professor beat him to the punch. “I insulted the headmaster.” he states, gaining half horrified and half awed looks all around.

“Why did you insult the headmaster?” one of the slytherin, a nicer one they’ve tried not to prank as much, asks. Noire sits back, blowing his hair out of his face.

“Dumbledore,” the name is said with as much discourtesy as someone as polite as their professor can muster, which is a stammeringly high amount honestly, “Doesn’t want me to do your last scenario activity because he ‘doesn’t see what they have to do with defending oneself from the dark arts’ and they’re ‘a waste of precious teaching time’ and he thinks I’d be ‘better off sticking with the standard curriculum’ instead of ‘indulging in senselessly provocative subject matter with highly sensitive disciples who are still finding their place in the world.’”

It is clear which parts are quotes from the headmaster, because they are spoken in a high mocking voice, with a disgusted face, and quotation fingers.

“Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn,” Snape starts, “But since when do you care about what he thinks?”

For once he agrees with Snivillus. Noire snorts. “Since he threatened to fire me.”

There’s an outburst of angry murmuring, and Sirius turns to his three friends in horror and shock. They can’t fire Noire. He’s Sirius’ favorite teacher.

“They can’t fire you.” Shacklebolt says responsibly over the uproar. “If he fires you Dumbledore has to hire a ministry appointed teacher, and I think he’d be more likely to hire he-who-must -not-be-named.”

That gets a laugh, and Sirius latches onto the sound with a grin. “Merlin that would be so weird.”

James jumps onto the table and points his quill like a wand furiously at Snape. “That answer is wrong!” He says, face contorted in fury. “Crucio!”

For once the slytherin actually plays along with them, mock flailing. Sirius nods respectfully at the slytherin, a temporary truce silently called. Professor Noire laughs at their antics, open and happy, and Sirius grins.

“Alright alright!” He smiles. He takes the last paper from the glass jar. “I can see my hands are tied.”

The class takes out their books thirstily, eyes bright, quills at the ready.

“In a world where magic has been found out and a war has broken out, you’ve been stranded in the desert.” He reads. “There is a sand snake coming towards you on one side, and a group of radicals coming from the other. You have five minutes to save yourself. You can not use magic.”

\--

Albus Dumbledore sits in his office, feeling defeated. On one hand, the students are all fond of James Noire, and he seems just as fond of them. On the other, his teachings are radical and off beat, not to mention sometimes just barely on the legal side. The man constantly toes the line as if it is an inconvenience, sitting on the knife’s edge cheekily.

It’s giving Albus heart palpitations.

Aside from himself, no one else seems to have a problem with his teaching style. Not even the school governors, who he’d been expecting to demand his replacement once they found out he’d appointed a vampire.

It isn’t even as if his teachings are dark propaganda. In fact, the students, no matter their blood purity, are all happy with his lessons. He’s taught them so much in such a short time with his silly scenarios game. He’s encouraged them to think outside of the box, find non-magical solutions to problems that would normally be seen as something only magic could solve, and his students have risen to the occasion with glee.

He’s had several of the students come up to him with compliments for his appointment of the vampire.

He can’t help but wonder if he’s being paranoid, or if this is another Riddle situation. He’d been the only one to see Riddle’s darkness too, and look how that had turned out? No one had expected sweet charming Tom Riddle to become a dark lord. Likewise, James Noire is also loved by all who know him with radical beliefs and the ability to make people listen, truly listen. If he wanted to there is no doubt in Albus’ mind that he would have the power to take on Riddle and win. But would that be a good thing, or would they fall to the hands of another dark lord?

One with the potential to win.

He sighs. Is his paranoia a good enough reason to deny his proposition? It’s a good plan, to hire a couple teachers skilled enough to teach two subjects, skilled enough to switch every year to combat the curse. It could solve many problems. So far, Dumbledore has only found a few capable of teaching two subjects, one being Defense, but not one knows potions of history enough to competently teach.

Well, no. That’s not 100% truth. There is one.

Marius Abigor Ceasario is skilled in many subjects, including all three subjects James Noire requested. He’s also, if rumors are true, the man’s fiance. Albus knows very little about the man, even after extensively researching him.

He’s eighteen years his senior, a ravenclaw during Tom Riddle’s year, and he got grades high enough Albus should have remembered him, but he had been so preoccupied with keeping Tom Riddle’s toes on the line that he regrettably shirked on that duty. He’s fairly handsome, charismatic and charming to boot, and he’s a tutor.

He’d be prefect for the job, but there’s the matter of his closeness to Jay Noire.

Noire, who would be be a well made match for Tom Riddle with his belief structure and own charm. Together they would be invincible.

Albus sighs. When did his life become so complicated?

\--

On November 18th, Harry walks to Hogsmeade only to see Voldemort waiting for him at the gates, coppery brown hair gleaming, dark red of his eyes obvious in the bright sunlight. He fights back a groan of annoyance, plastering on a happy face. “Hullo lovely!” he calls down.

“Good afternoon.” Voldemort returns, an indulgent smile on his face that even Harry would believe if it were not for his sharpened senses.

Slughorn pats him on the back, pushing him forward. “Go on then.” He smiles. “I’ve got first shift.”

Before Harry can protest the other professor is already shooing away his students, leaving him at the entrance to the village with the dark lord. “Could have warned me your identity.” He greets when they are alone.

“And ruin the fun?” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Never.”

Harry extends his arm, and the dark lord loops their arms together. He follows the dark lord to the same table as before. “So,” Voldemort smiles. “Tell me what happened after I died?”

Harry smiles. “It was 1998.” He begins. “June. The summer had always brought some form of melancholy, but never like this. Our souls had touched for most of my life. Of course I was depressed to lose that familiarity. We were, in a strange way, soul mates, and your death ripped a hole into the core of me. So, on the 15th, I walked to the destroyed bridge and stood at the cracked and broken edge, ready to take my life.”

Voldemort leans in, utterly fascinated, and Harry tells him about death.

\--

_There were once three brothers who longed for power above all else._

_The first brother desired the strength to overcome death. The second desired the power to bring back someone from the very hands of death. The third desired the ability to hide from death,to choose his own passing._

_And so the brothers set off into the world with this quest, and as the years passed they found themselves becoming ever more powerful. So powerful in fact, that when they came across a river where many had died, they were able to see the curse on the waters. The brother’s broke the curse and summoned a bridge, in doing so cheating death._

_So death itself came for them as if to congratulate them for their cunning, and the brothers were wise. The saw through his lies and slyly tricked death into helping them achieve their goals._

_For the first brother, Death charmed his wand to be all powerful and unbeatable. For the second, Death charmed his wife’s wedding ring to call back the dead. For the third Death charmed his invisibility cloak, so that he could be hidden from death’s eyes._

_Returning home with their riches and gifts, the brothers went their separate ways. The first bragged to all who could hear him of his power, and a thief came into his room that very night and slit his throat, claiming the wand for himself._

_The second summoned his wife, but she was a shade of herself. She convinced him of the peacefulness of death. The second brother took his own life, and Death swooped in to take him._

_The third was wary. His brothers were dead, their objects lost, and he hid himself from death. He watched for Death as his family grew. When it was time he passed down his cloak and embraced death as a friend._

_But death could not take the power back from the land of the living, and so he cursed the objects, never to be owned at the same time by the same person. For, if the hallows ever joined their master would become powerful enough to master death itself. A being granted near endless powers._

_Immortality. Demonic strength. Necromancy. Sight beyond the veil. And so much more._

_In return, the master of death would be cursed to a half life, one foot in the realm of death, and one foot in the realm of the living, because to be immortal was no gift._

_To be immortal was a curse beyond all curses._

\--

Harry is in the middle of grading papers on the twelfth of December when Slughorn comes in. “I know you’re going to be at your fiance’s house for the holidays, and I don’t blame you. I would be home if I had a family.” he starts off rambling, not even waiting for Harry to look up from his papers. “But, if you can spare the time, I’m throwing a slug club party on the 24th and I’d like you and the fiance to be there. It would mean so much to me Jay, so please, promise you’ll be there?”

Harry smiles. “I’ll ask Marius.” He says.

When the man leaves he sighs. He’d forgotten about the holidays to be perfectly honest. He knows he can not stay over the winter break without making it seem there is discord in his love life, so Harry sighs heavily again, and pens out a letter for the dark lord. He’d just ask face to face, the next Hogsmeade trip is set for the sixteenth, but they already decided they would both be too busy to see each other for their fourth Hogsmeade meeting.

_Dear M,_

_I seem to have found myself in a bit of a challenging spot. If I stay at Hogwarts over the winter break it will suggest we are having “relationship problems”, and cause me quite a bit of inconvenience at work, not to mention shine a questioning light on our constant meetings. As such, I have no choice but to “Go home” for the holidays. I’ve no where to go for the duration of the two weeks between December 23rd to January 6th, any chance you have a spare room?_

_H_

_Ps. Slughorn wants us to show at his party on the 24th. Thoughts?_


	6. Chapter Six

_There is a veil in the department of mysteries that not even those who study can figure out it’s purpose. Though is goes by many names; the black veil, the death veil, and even just the veil; it has one name lost to time that describes it quite well. The Elysian Veil._

_It is as it’s name suggests, a veil to heaven._

_Or rather, to what one would considered their greatest desire. Their personal heaven. A world of their own dreams, perfect for their personal desires._

_For Holland Smythe this was a world where her sister still lived. For Nora Bones this was a world where she was loved by her mother. For Azaezel Malfoy this was a world where he could be with his muggle lover without worrying about the scorn. For Sirius Black this was a world his friends and brother had never been murdered._

_What of a boy called Harry James Potter?_

_When the time capsule exploded, Harry Potter was thrown through two rooms and right into the veil. He did not know of the veil’s power, he wasn’t even aware he’d been thrown into it’s silken grasp. Sirius Black could have told him, but he never had the time. So, when Harry Potter fell into the veil he did not know to think of a wish, and the veil seeped into him and took his deepest wishes from his heart; his parents alive, a place where he could find true happiness, a love that would be real and equal, a place where his powers as the master of death would do some good. The veil sorted through time and worlds until it found the perfect place for him._

_It settled him into his new life with a kiss to his forehead and the veil fell quiet once more, content in it’s knowledge that he would find his own heaven in this world._

_After all, the veil wished nothing more than to keep fate and her children happy, and Harry James Potter was fate’s favorite child._

\--

“Can anyone tell me what the point of the scenarios was?” Harry asks, patiently staring out at his fourth year class. Not one student raises a hand. There are some whispers back and forth between students, a tidal wave of hissing from the desks, but not a single student raises their hand. “Anyone wish to guess?”

Now there are hesitant hands, and Harry points to the first, a girl named Malory Voss. “To break the ice?” is what she says.

“No.” Harry smiles. “A bit long of a project to be simply to break the ice. Mr. Brown?”

“Is it, to prove you’re a fun teacher?” he asks, and Harry snorts.

“Again, no.” He responds. “That leaves you Ms. Reyes.”

“To explore different solutions to problems we wouldn’t normally explore?” she questions.

“Close.” Harry grins out at his class. “That is one lesson. Another one is that the scenarios teach us that not every problem can be solved by magic.” His students murmur, some confused, some with revelation.

“If we become reliant upon magic we become complacent. Yes, we could potentially create a utopia sustained by magic, but in the far future would there be anyone with the skills to survive without magic? Our future depends on what we pass down, what knowledge we share and keep.” Harry lectures. “In your hands is the future of magic itself. In your hands is the knowledge of every magical and non-magical from the past. But can anyone tell me how witches and wizards came to have magic?”

There is mostly silence, though a few students shout their answers out. One claims it was always there, another says it was given to them by the stars. Harry waits for everyone to be done discussing, then he shakes his head with a small smile.

“The very first magical humans,” He reveals, “Got their magic from creatures, and gods, and wild magical beings. They got their magic through old rituals of blood and death and yes, even sex.”

“I don’t have nasty creature blood in my veins.” Voss snarls. “I’m pure.”

Harry laughs. “Merlin himself was a cambion.” He tells them. “Half demon. Morgana was the first ever to be referred to as a light lord, and she was part naga. Every last one of you has creature ancestors. Every pure blood, squib, and even every one of our so called muggle borns.”

He gets off the desk and moves his fingers in the complex motions he learned to pull a physical representation of his magic out. The ball of shimmering wild light in between his hands, a silvery purple nuclear sun in his palms, draws awed sounds.

“Magic, like time, death, and fate, is a byproduct of creation and chaos.” He says. “You see, magic didn’t just snap into existence one day. It is a leftover power from the universe coming into existence. We wield unimaginable potential. Unimaginable power is in our grasp.”

He pauses for a moment, watching his wide eyed students as they sit on the edges of their seats, hanging on to his every word. The door opens and the headmaster enters the room. For a second he debates ending his lesson there, but instead he nods to acknowledge the man and continues. They need to know.  
  
“Humans were not born to this gift.” He tells them. “Not like the demons, elves, or even the original true born vampires. We were born as tiny weak little infants in a world of horrible eldritch creatures and deities. We had to fight tooth and claw for it. We traded our lives and our dignity for unimaginable powers, but what do we have to show for it?”

No answer.

“We have fear and hatred and racism.” Harry snarls. “We have cruelty. We have malice. We are divided, squandering what we worked so hard for, letting it die all because someone a long time ago decided to censor our beginning. Someone with enough power decided that the future generations need not know of the creatures our magic was born from. Someone with enough power told us that non-magicals deserve our disdain, and their spawn, no matter how magical, also deserve scorn.”

“We inbreed, letting the pool grow cold and weak and tainted by filth, and we don’t add new magic to clear out the festering and scum. With every generation our magic grows weaker. With every set of cousins who marry, and every muggle born made to feel like an outcast in both words, we slowly contribute to the death of magic.” He declares. “We completely ignore the most radical honest truth there is. Magic is magic. We fought tooth and nail to receive it, and yet, if we continue down this path there will come a day, sooner rather than later, when magic ceases to exist in our world. I can’t change the world or make you believe, but I can prepare you for the future. I can prepare you for the eventuality that magic will one day no longer be at your disposal.”

There is dead silence, even Dumbledore looking on in contemplative silence. “That, is the reason for our scenarios.” Harry concludes. “To teach you how to survive in any eventuality with or without magic. Because the future will be here sooner than you think.”

\--

_Dear H._

_Of course. You are more than welcome to stay with me. I am currently staying in the Malfoy manor, but I’ll make sure you are accommodated. I’d be delighted to show up at Slughorn’s party, he was a favorite professor of mine. Stay at Hogwarts for the 23rd, I’ll bring you home after the party on the 24th._

_Regards,_

_M._

\--

The party isn’t entirely like the one he’d attended in his sixth year, but it has it’s similarities.

The ceiling and walls are draped in silver and blue fabrics, like silk streamers, and from the ceiling snow seems to fall on, but never reach, the crowded room. In some ways it is still exactly like he’d remembered; such as the smoking old wizards in the corner, house elves with trays of hors d'oeuvres, and even the sheer amount of people.

Harry is dressed in fine black robes. He’d look at home in a death eater party, or a pure blood yule party, but Slughorn had apparently elected not to inform him that it had changed to a casual party, so Harry is a bit overdressed in the sea of casual students and teachers. Only a few others seem not to have gotten the memo, but Harry is the only teacher.

“I see we’re a little formal for the occasion.” Harry spins around to greet the dark lord.

They are dressed in similar robes. Tight fitted at the top, flaring from the hips down, trim in silver, sleeves flared, v-necked. His are some how even nicer than Harry’s and he’s pretty sure he’d seen the dark lord wear a similar style robes for his resurrection in the future.

Voldemort draws him close, giving him an intense and contemplative look, then leans in and kisses him. Harry doesn’t pull away, it would be strange if he pulled away from his fiance. He can hear the giggles, the whispers, but he leans in anyways.

He kisses him back anyways.

It’s a bad idea. A really bad idea, but Voldemort is a really good kisser, and his mouth is soft and warm and feels nice against Harry’s, and he hasn’t been kissed in a long time, to afraid to get attached to anyone in the past. It’s hard not to deepen the kiss and let go of his worries. It’s hard to remember he’s not kissing him because he actually likes him, but because they are in a room full of people who think they are romantic with each other.

When he pulls away Harry nearly leans back in, then his brain catches up and he inwardly chastises himself. The dark lord gestures to the dance floor. “Shall we love?” He asks, and Harry takes his hand.

People stare as they spin by, and Harry knows it is less to do with him being a teacher, or his same-sex relationship, or even their formal clothes; but more to do with the fact they both are rather attractive. He’s been told it enough he actually believes it, and Voldemort has probably always been aware of his attraction. He has to have been to have used it as a weapon in his school years. They make a stunning couple, but it’s not real. Smoke and mirror tricks.

They dance for a few songs, then Harry leads him off the dance floor to the refreshments. Voldemort casts a small privacy shield, and Harry suspects it is

“Why did you kiss me earlier?” Harry asks.

Voldemort deflects, “Why did you kiss me back?”

It’s a reasonable question, so instead of doing the childish thing, Harry answers. “It would have been strange if I didn't. We are in a room full of people who think you and I are betrothed, and it would have been peculiar for me to push you away. You must have known that, you’re not an idiot. So again, why did you kiss me?”

“Maybe that's why I kissed you, ever think of that, Harry?” He shivers at the use of his name, his real name, from the lips of someone who was once his mortal enemy. “Maybe I kissed you because it would have been weird not to kiss my fiance. Not everything I do has some nefarious ulterior motive or meaning.”

Harry nods thoughtfully. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that.” he admits.

Voldemort smiles. “Of course, there is an alternative.”

Harry tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Voldemort leans in close, as if to kiss him again. “Maybe, I just wanted to.” He breathes.

Then the dark lord cancels the privacy spells and walks off laughing, leaving Harry standing there next to the punch with an incredulous look, unsure of what the hell his life has become. “Getting too old for this do you like me like me teen girl shit.” Harry calls after him, drawing some strange looks. In hindsight, maybe he should have waited until later.

Voldemort throws his hands in the air as his walks away, glancing back with a smirk as if to prove he has no cares in the world. “You already know I like you.” He smiles. “Wouldn’t be engaged to you if I didn’t.”

“Git.” Harry mutters under his breath, but fondly because Slughorn is now close enough to hear him.

“What’s that all about then?” The rotund man asks curiously.

Harry laughs. “Just a private joke.” He says.

“Well I’m glad you came.” he smiles. “You look to be having fun.”

“I am.” He agrees. “Well, gotta see a man about a dance.”

Harry smiles and rejoins the party, leaving Slughorn staring after him fondly as he takes Voldemort’s offered hand.

.........................................

........................................

 **A/N:** Please read. So for those of you who didn't read the thing about my broken laptop, my twin sister decided to use my laptop without asking and gave me a virus. I had up to chapter eight written, but what you see is what I could restore. Everything else I will have to rewrite and do on my mobile phone. This also means the other stories I have in motion are going to have to be put up, so I will be working on multiple stories. Please be patient. Updates will be a little sporadic until I can buy a new laptop, probably with income taxes, which is right around my move, so most likely everything is up in the air until May. Just be patient and I will update as fast as I can. Thanks - Coffi


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